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MARRIED 

FOR MONEY. 


A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS. 

\ f: - . 

BY 

' 

MAURICE M. MINTON. 


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MARRIED 


FOR MONEY. 


A IIKAMA IN FOUR ACTS. 



[Printed for the private use of the Author , who will protect himself 
from any infringement of his rights in accordance with his letters of 
copyright .] 










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COPYRIGHTED. 1881. 

BT 

Maurice M. Minton. 

[All rights reserved.] 








































ACT I. 


The Breakfast Room in 


the Brockholst Mansion. 


ACT XX. 

The Apartments of Mrs. Morton. 


ACT III. 

The Law Office of John Melville. 

ACT IV. 

'Fhe Glen Cottage. 


TIME, - THE PRESENT. 


TDX^^AXvXAATIS PERSONAE. 


JOHN MEL VILL E, An Attorney and Counsellor <it Law 


SOL OM ON WRINKLE, Senior Partner of the late firm 
of Wrinkle A Brockholst. 


RICIIARJ) PROCK HOLST, 
FREDERIC IO NO STREET, 


Junior Partner. 

A Stock Broker. 


A PS TIN I() YEL L, A Minim/ Engineer. 


MRS. ETHEL MORTON 

MRS. BROCKHOLST, A Leader of Society. 

MISS LEON/E BROCKHOLST, Her Daughter. 

MISS ALICE BROCKHOLST, Godchild of Solomon 
Wrinkle. 


Detective, Lawyer's Clerk, Two Serving Men, One Maid. 























































































ACT X. 


The Breakfast Room in the Brockholst Mansion. 

R.—Table set for breakfast. L.—Large, open fire-place, 2 
large easy chairs. Curtain rises on servants setting 
the table. 

William- —Your mother always said, my lad, that when 
two idjits got tired of leaving good enough alone they’d go 
and get married. . 

Edward --Now father you don’t think the young ladies 
idjits ? 

William —By the Piper that played for Moses, do you 
think I lack such respect.' But for that matter it’s all the 
same in high or low, rich or poor; it comes to all like the 
measles. 

Edward —How like the measles ? 

William —Why,you knave,it’s a rashness that’s catchen;he, 
he,—Your sister Sal was always complainin’ of the holes in 
the stockings, and now she is married and has the full of a 
basket every week. The young ladies won’t have the stock¬ 
ings to darn, but its a far worse hole, these genteel folks 
have to mend. ( Impressively , slovily.) —I tell you Ed¬ 
ward there is many a heart-ache in trying to darn the big 
stocking, called appearances. 

Edward —Faith father, if you haven’t the heartache, 
yer think yer have, and where’s the odds ? Miss Alice’s 
young man has no money, but loves the ground she 
walks on, while Miss Leonie’s is rich as a bank, and as gay 
as a Frenchman; now who’s,heart do you think is reckoned 
to do the most aching ? 

William —If a husband makes happiness, I reckon Mr. 
Lovell is more like to than Mr. Melville, who is a—who 
is a— 

Edward —Farmer. 

William —What do jon mean- 

Edward —I mean he is a farmer, doesn’t everybody say he 
is sowing his oats; but see, here come Miss Alice and Mr. 
Lovell. 






6 


Enter Lovell and Alice—Left door. 

Lovell—Y ou are not angry with me for telling you how 
much, how dearly, I love you, Alice? May I call you Alice? 

Alice —Yes—Austin. 

Lovell—I should not have spoken, but when I thought 
of the possibility of not seeing you for so many months,per¬ 
haps years, my feelings surged up within me and I revealed 
how dearly T loved you, when I should have concealed it. 

Alice —Why, Austin—If a man loves a girl as you tell 
me you love me he has a perfect right to speak of it —in 
fact, it is not fair to a girl not to. 

Lovell—A h yes, my dearest, but in these days the right 
of a man to make such a confession is biased by the world’s 
cry “can he support her,” and you know, love, the world 
does not take the answer, ‘ not to-day, but 1 can before long.” 

Alice— ( indignantly .) Everybody thinks more of what 
other people think of them, than what they themselves think; 
I do not care what other people think of our happiness, but 
what we do ourselves—the richer .people become, it seems 
to me, the more dependent they grow on their neighbors 
opinions. 

Lovell—Y es dear, because in this day when everything is 
measured by the guage of gold, the credit of a suitor is as 
much considered as if he were a buyer of merchandise and 
matrimonial arrangements are most easily effected when a 
lover of a young girl stands on a good commercial footing, 
and as for me, I am below such mention. 

Alice. ( archly ) —You are on a much better footing than 
some other men I know, who have a hundred times as much. 

Lovell—O ne hundred times nothing is—nothing; but dear¬ 
est, I believe Melville will open my future forme, and when 
once I get a start, and the hope of having you as a reward 
for my industry, I will work like—like a man in search of a 
political situation. 

Alice ( archly) —Will you favor home rule ? 

Lovell—T hat I will—I never hope for wealth or fame 
nor a more than ordinary competency, but now with you to 
love I feel equal to any task, dare any obstacle and feel con¬ 
fident o£ success, but, you did not tell me you loved me ? 

Alice—W as it necessary? 

Lovell—M ay I, ( leaning over to kiss her.) 

•Alice—D on’t be a goose. 

(As he kisses her , enter William with a letter on a tray.) 

William—A hem, beg pardon, Miss. Here’s a letter for 
Mr. I mvell- (exit). 























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Lovell—M ay I open it— 

“ My Dear Fellow, I have decided to send you to Color¬ 
ado, if you feel disposed to go on the terms we have talked 
over, viz : salary as agreed, expenses paid, one tenth of 
earnings. If you accept let me know at once. Yours, 

John Melville.” 

By Joe, at last, I knew if you became my star a brighter 
sky would be above me— {exit—exit). 

William—T hat ’ere sort of love is nat’ral. ( Interrupted 
by the entrance of Mr. B , followed by Mrs. B.) —Morning 
papers, sir. {Hands papers.) 

Mr B.—Bring up breakfast. ( Exit William.) 

Mrs. B—Had we not better wait for Mr. Melville ? 

Mr. B.—We have waited long enough, it is a quarter past 
eleven now. 

Mrs B.—These young men of fashion are never punctual, 
what is fifteen minutes ? You seem thoroughly void of all 

policy, Mr. B.-We must humor these young men— 

Heaven knows they are not so many- 

Mr. B —Quite as many as when we were married my dear , 
if not more. 

Mrs. B.—First of all, Mr. B.-don’t dear me—and in 

the second place the times are very different. 

Mr. B.—Decidedly so, with some people. 

Mrs B.—That, I presume is an insinuation directed at me, 
if I have changed may I presume to assert it is for the 
better ? 

Mr. B.—Certainly, assert what you will, I will not deny 
it; I have been a merchant and the commercial code says: 
Never depreciate your own property. 

Mrs. B.—I believe that maxim of the commercial code 
implies that I am a property of some value ?—thank you— 
When you acquired this property, was it not also somewhat 
of a speculation on ray part, based on your talents ? 

Mr. B —A most favorable speculation I should think, if 
the figures in mv check-book are to be credited 

Mrs B.—I presume they are; I never heard of your falsi¬ 
fying your accounts. But, I detest quarrelling, its vulgar 
—so let us have peace —I cannot comprehend how a man, a 
father of a family, can be so wanting in affection as to neg¬ 
lect the welfare of his children. 

Mr. B.—I was not aware that I did. They have had all 
that money could buy. 

Mrs. B—Yes, to be sure; but you do not show any inter¬ 
est in their settling down. 










8 


Mr. B.—Age will do that. 

Mrs B—What, spinsters—single and lonely. 

Mr. B.—Better than wives, doubled and troubled. 

Mrs. B—If they are to be spinsters—why pray has so 
much money been spent on their education—for the last fif¬ 
teen years the house has been overrun with teachers of 
French, German, music, painting and Heaven knows what 
else. 

Mr. 13 —Idle time will come when the gabble, and idle 
chatter of your fishiotiable young men, will cease to inter¬ 
est the girls, and then they will meet agreeable men of the 
world, who know how to talk Their present education 
will make them intelligent and capable of appreciating the 
beauties of art and literature, besides giving them agreeable 
personal resources in the hours of absence from friends. 

Mrs. B.—Bless me, I had no such education, and yet no¬ 
body thinks me ignorant,and as to your fiddle-dee-dee about 
art, literature, and absence from friends—you can read all 
you want in the newspapers and monthly magazines. It was 
only last night Mrs. 'Tattle told me how Dr. Twaddle compli¬ 
mented me on my knowledge of art. 

Mr. 13 . —Indeed, what h id you been talking about ? 

Mrs. B —-At Mrs. Tattle’s I joined a small group who were 
talking about works of art, when somebody made a remark 
about the Venus of Milo, the Venus of Medicine, and other 
plaster casts, I asserted m3" opinion that there was too much 
similarity between them — Mr. Green seemed surprised, 
asked me in what way, and I replied in the formation of the ‘ 
arms and hands, not wishing to say legs. 

Mr B—Oh Heavens ! 013^ dear, ( laughs ) the Venus of 
Milo has no arms. (Laughs.) 

Mrs. B—You may T try to make me believe that, Mr. Brock 
hoist, but I won’t, it is nonsense for you to try to persuade me 
that any sculptor would make a figure without arms I am 
willing to admit that education is not to be neglected, but 
good manners, and the knowledge of how to select one’s 
friends is more important. To retain them, perhaps the 
knowledge of art and literature is quite necessary—Nothing 
is so important however to a girl as to know how to keep up 
with her set, as for me I sometimes have led it, and have 
always kept up with the world. 

Mr. B—Yes, and to the limits of my income as well— 

Mrs. B—Ever since our agreement to bring up our two 
girls differently, that is, Alice according to your ideas, and 
Leonie to mine, I have endeavored to surround Leonie with 
eligible men. 
















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Mr. B—We differ materially as to eligible men, I fear— 
for instance who do you consider an eligible man ? 

Mrs. B—Mr Melville— 

Mr. B—If it were not for our agreement Iwould not allow 
him in the house—why Wrinkle says— 

Mrs* B—It is always ‘‘Wrinkle says” he is the Blackstone 
to your arguments. 

Mr. B—Well, Wrinkle says'¬ 
llIF!]—The day is too clear to have clouds in the 
house at breakfast time. 

Mrs. B—“ Oh, good morning; yon speak of the devil and 
lie is sure to appear.”—only figuratively speaking.— 

Mr. W—Naturally Madam, “ when, ahem, ( coughs ) hell 
is being raised ”—only figuratively speaking 

Mr. B—My wife says she thinks Mr. Melville an eligible 
man for Leonie— 

Mrs. B—Certainly; he has $20,000 a year, and goes every¬ 
where. 

Mr. W—How much more eligible would he be with $25, 
000 a year. 

Mr. B-^They would be to each other, says the social 
arithmetic, as is one-fourth to one-fifth. 

Mrs. B—The escapades of his youth are not unsimilar to 
yours, Mr. Wrinkle, il tradition does not lie. 

Mr.- W—To an old man, Madame, the traditions of his 
youth always lie. 

Mr. B—My go >d friend is in the seared leaf now, and is 
capable of lo iking back with regret to those indiscretions of 
the past which accompanied champagne and oysters. 

Mr W—Your “ good friend ” would politely differ with 
you in regard to being a “ seared leaf,” and in remembering 
the past,regr-'ts nothing.save perhaps,those %< little accounts ” 
for said oyster* and champagne. 

Mrs. W—We women are neither as great fools as you 
men think we are, or as you would make ns. I came across 
a note of yours the other day, Mr Wrinkle, in which you 
‘carefully instructed my husband to meet you at a certain 
place, at a certain hour, where you had ordered champagne 
and oysters, your note read further, ‘‘ bring your friend in 
with you, by the side door, and the { other little fellow 7 will 
will be waiting with me.” 

Mr. B—Oh, yes; that was the supper we gave Fred and 
little Phil, of Albany. 

Mrs. B—Do not make matters worse by prevarication, Mr. 




10 


Brockholst; notes written in the manner Mr. Wrinkle wrote 
that note mean “ the other little fellow is a she.” 

Mr. W—Of course, my dear Mrs. Brockholst, in the event 
of a champagne and oyster supper, the “ other little fellow” 
is always a “ she.” 

Mr. B—Hush—here come the girls. 

Enter Leonie and Alice at - 

Leonie —Good morning Father, good morning Mr. 
Wrinkle. 

Mr. B—Later than usual. 

Alice— Good morning Father, good morning my dear 
God-father, my lovely Crease. (Kissing him.) 

Mr. W — [aside] She is going to levy a tax on her lovely 
Crease. 


Mrs. B—You are very late Leonie. Mr. Melville has not 
come. 

Miss B—So my maid told me. Something unexpected 
must have detained Mr. Melville. 

Mr. B —[to Wrinkle] Won’t you come into the study and 
look into this scheme of Longstreet’s with me? [exit.] 

Alice — [crossing stage] God-father, can I speak to you 
for a few minutes ? 


Mr. W—Hem—My dear —you have trained me so well 
that as soon as you say you want a few minutes of private 
chat, 1 can immediately guess that your pocket-book is 
purely feminine. 

Alice —What do you mean by that ? What is a feminine 
pocket-book ? 

Wrinkle —One, my dear, that is well extended, filled 
almost to bursting with—with samples of cloths, hair pins, 
pieces of paper, and in short, with everything but money. 

Alice —You are wrong, godfather; I want something 
quite different; but before I tell you, you must promise 
not to tell. Will you promise ? 

Wrinkle —Yes; I suppose I must; how unhappy is the 
bachelor, old enough to be a great uncle, who is tied to the 
apron strings of his godchild. My dear, when I promised 




















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11 


to guide your little soul heavenward you smiled at me from 
the dominie’s arms. You got a wrinkle in me and have 
played it for all it’s worth. [ With mock severity. ] Have you 
broken a commandment or the whole dozen ? 

Alice —No, godfather; I have not broken any this time; 
but there are only ten. I have fallen in love. 

Wrinkle—T hen be sensible and fall out, it won’t hurt. 

Alice —Godfather, Pa told me you loved a young and 
very pretty girl once; you were too poor to marry, and 
when you did get well enough off, she had married another. 
If you had married, how much happier you would be now. 
You love me, don’t you godfather; do help me and Austin 
and make us happy. 

Wrinkle— My dear, your father will not consent. Austin 
is pooi 1 , and h is no future. 

Alice —Remember, had you a future ? if you love me, 
promise to help Austin, and father will consent before long. 

Wrinkle —How could you make such a mistake, an impe¬ 
cunious drawing teacher ? 

Alice —[ proudly ] He is a Mining Engineer. 

Wrinkle —An undermining Engineer, I should say, 
acting drawing teacher—how did it happen ? 

Alice — r shyly, innocently ,J A long time ago he said he 
liked to talk to me, because he could draw me out. 

Wrinkle —That was not the drawing he was paid to 
teach, however you wish to show your proficiency by draw¬ 
ing him into your family. 

Alice —I want you to help him on in the world. I love 
him just as dearly as you once loved that young girl. 

Yrinkle —Think for a moment my child, of the change 
you contemplate; compare the delicacies of the table of your 
father’s house with the boiled potatoes and hash of your 
husband’s Nay, my dear, you probably won’t have hash; 
hash, my dear, is a positive sign that the wife is frugal and 
skillful. Your training has unfitted your mind to conceive 
so economical a dish to be palatable.— [Brockholst calls 
from parlor] —But I must join your father now, and will see 
you bye and bye. \_Exit Alice and Wrinkle .] 

[Servants clear table — Mrs. B. and Miss B. have been 
reading—exit servants 

Mrs. B — If Mr. Melville offers himself to you, I hope you 
will have the good sense to appreciate the offer, and accept 
him. 

Miss B—But mother, I do not love him, and how can I 
respect him ? 


































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♦ 

























































12 


Mrs. B—You are not expected to love him The days of 
Paul and Virginia are over my child, besides they did not 
live in New York. And as to respect, why should you not 
respect Mr. Melville? Is he not handsome, cultivated, rising 
in his profession, and enormously rich. 

Miss B—Yes, but he is very dissipated. 

M rs B—All such men reform upon marriage and become 
model husbands. 

Miss B—I do not wish to attempt the reform of a rake. 
Why should I get married. I am not anxious “ to establish 
myself as you say ” I am happy enough now, what will I 
gain ? 

Mrs B—As the wife of John Melville you will gain an 
envied position You will triumph over numbers of girls, 
who would marry him to morrow if they could. You will 
suddenly become a power, worshipped, envied, flattered, 
admired, talked off: heavens what more do you want? 

Miss B—1 have tasted the sweetness of this and like it, 
but there are times when all these things cease to please, 
when I see beauty to be pearl powder, pencilling and rouge, 
when the dance music is but the labored creaking and strain- 
ing of instruments which yield their owners food, when 
the smiles and talk of the clever men are as shallow as the 
information they have acquired. Any how the men worth 
knowing seldom go out 

Mrs. B—Nonsense. As a matron you see and hear every 
thing quite differently. 

Miss B — [sneeringly) Why don’t you say mother—that 
as a matron I should be allowed to listen and relate scandals 
and question.ible stories of— 

M rs. B—I have no reference to the anecdotes you would 
hear, but to your position in the social world. You never 
have seen the fawning of people; the striving of the set 
below you to get up into your circle. This homage is the 
perquisite of a matron. 

Miss B—t here is one other thing; everybody knows Mr. 
Melville has been saved from ruin by a worn in. Can he? 
will he ? throv; her off ? 

Mrs. B—Suppose he does not, what can it matter, you 
only the law recognizes ? 

Miss B— [sadly) Outside of the law, mother, in the sight 
of God. Is there a difference between the recognized and 
the unrecognized ? 

Mrs B—Hush, I see Mr. Melville. He is in the hall; I 
will leave you, do not be silly, child, if he offers himself 






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13 


I tell you as your mother and one who knows the world, ac¬ 
cept him. It is a splendid opportunity [exit Mrs. B. 

Miss 13 — Ah, in the conventional life I lead, mother is 
right. 

[Enter Melville]—Pardon me for not being here at your 
breakfast hour, I hope you will forgive me. I was unavoid¬ 
ably detained at my office; I went down town on some 
unexpected but important business. 

Miss B—Certainly I am told you are a very assiduous 
worker now, I would not have tempted you from your 
clients, but then, you said you wanted to see me very partic¬ 
ularly this morning Of course I was curious to know what 
about ? 

Mr. M—Can’t you guess ? 

Miss B—Why attempt to guess. Why destroy the pleas¬ 
ure of hearing the fact. You come to reveal not to conceal. 

Mr. M—Yes I have come to tell you something. We 
won’t be disturbed here? (Leads to the seats before 1iref\ 

Miss 13— No. 

Mr M—To ask you a question A question which men 
seldom ask, in a long lifetime. 

Miss 13—You almost frighten me, you are so solemn. 

Mr. M. —It is upon a solemn subject, more so with me 
than with most men. As it is affected by circumstances, 
the incidents of my life, therefore let the answer be in accord 
with it I have been more conspicuous for folly than for 
wisdom—you look amused, pray do not smile—a proud man 
may know he has been a fool, but it is not over pleasant to 
acknowledge it You know what I mean by folly ? No— 
then I will explain \ r ou have heard of my having been 
somew'iat dissipited? 

Miss B—Yes, somewhat ( smiles ) 

Mr. M.—So I imagined—It is well to know these things. 
I dislike mistakes. I am no longer dissipated. 

Miss B. — Ah, (questioningly ) 

Mr. M.—My cure was peculiar but effectual. How this 
cure was effected is unimportant. Life is extraordinary, and 
crime cured crime. fo-day my social position is unim¬ 
peached, my prospects bright and I, I am ambitious of the 
future, I am the last of my name. I must marry, I come to 
you with the truth on my lips, and in my heart. I have 
broken some of the laws of Grid, my punishment is simple. 
The one I would marry is irrevocably witheld. Do not be 
startled. I cannot deceive you. I admire your beauty, your 
wit, your refinement, you manners, I admire your talents, 



14 


your accomplishments I come with my fortune, and ask 
you to be my wife; you will never have cause to repent your 
choice, for I will be a faithful and devoted husband to you 
if you will be my wife. 

Miss B—( mockingly ) Oh, am I just the piece of furniture 
you want ? how nice ! Look well at your table I suppose 
— ? eh ? ( laughing sarcastically) Ha—ha—ha. Why, 
Mr Melville, you compliment me: truly you do. But do 
not, I pray—T do not like such compliments,especially when 
a man s lys in the same breath “ the one I would marry is 
withheld from me”- 

Mr M — {rising) You do not understand me. 1 approach 
you with the utmost respect, esteem—and— 

Miss B ( interrupting ) Without love- 

Ms. M —I can never love, only admire—esteem. I should 
be proud of you You will become the most envied of the 
leaders of society, 

Miss B—If a woman happens to be born well and wealthy, 
you men think she differs from all the other women by hav¬ 
ing no heart; you think women in my position must be 
induced to marry by offering premiums; have we no hearts 
to be won by the wooing ? Why should I not be insulted 
by your proposal ? 

Mr M.—Because your education has led you to expect 
such offers; the world and your mother prepare you to 
accept such offers, but they are seldom so honest. Under 
the semblance of deep admiration and intense love, you as 
well as I, have seen money attracted by money, money buy¬ 
ing position, and position alluring money. Few men, [ 
imagine, have spoken of themselves as plainly as I have; I 
will n >t act the lie; I prefer to present the truth plainly; 
because I measure the quantity of my feeling for you do 
not believe it less than it is; it is m >st probably more, and I 
would have you love me fondly, ves, devotedly, if possible. 

Miss B—( mockingly) Of course you would, all men 
would have women their breathless admirers—their servile 
and most unworthy slaves—•( sarcastically) and you would 
even permit me to love you—ha, ha, (sneeringly) how kind 
of you— {seriously, looking seriously at J. M.) * John 
Melville -you are called a clever man—but you do not 
know how to woo a woman—-ves, even a society woman 
must be wooed—for she, even she is a woman. Some wo 
men idealize men and deceive themselves, others have no 
ideals, but instead have certain ideas of men grading them 
higher or lower as the case may be—of this class—am I. In 






15 


both cases the imagination acts. You (emphatically) would 
destroy the imagination. You forget that woman is sensi¬ 
tive. Her imagination affected by blunt truths, her sensitive 
nature shrinks and trembles. You destroy the slightest trace 
of an illusion. 

Mr. M.--How do I destroy your illusions, or shock your 
nature ? 

Miss B.t—H ow—Can’t you see ( excitedly ), blind man, then 
look—I am a woman—hence capable of loving—I have been 
shielded from the world, hence sensitive; I have been imbued 
by my mother with social ideas, hence ambitious You 
come and bluntly endeavor to crush any sentiment--You do 
not allow a woman’s mind to plead love to her own heart. 
Frost bitten in the world, you come to me with its treasures 
to fan my ambition, and the chilling affection you offer 
checks that which might be love in me and makes my better 
nature shiver. Man. man, why did you tell rne all, why did 
you not try to make me love you ? ( throws her head 

down.) 

Mr. M —I was true to myself—therefore perhaps, unkind 
to you—I believed you more worldly —I am very very sorry 
—since 1 cause your nature to repel mine I will leave 
—Do I understand you to say “ JYoC —Do you refuse me ? 

Miss B.- No ! 

( Centre door opens and a person is seen to listen 
cautiously) 

Mr M.—You do not refuse me ? Then you will be my 
wife ? You will try to love me ? 

Miss B.—Yes, I will try. 

Mr. M. — ( leans over to kiss heer) My wife ! 

Miss B —( Cady) Not yet —(draws back , offers her hand) 
Till then you may kiss my hand. 

Mr. M—( Jvisses her hand.) Shall we not go to your 
father and mother. 

Miss B —Yes, this way. 

Longstreet —(( coming down stage , through C. Id with 
long 'whistle) If the straw shows the way the wind blows 
I see an ill wind here that blows no one good,and particularly 
myself.—Fool, fool that I am, to let this woman’s cold, im¬ 
passive beauty lead me to destruction. 

end act 1. 













ACT II. 


The Apartments of Mrs. Morton. 

Furnished as a library—table, work-basket, fancy work, 

fire-place, books, book case. 

Mrs. M.— ( Working cushion cover , fancy embroidery.) 
An angle here, a curve there, a cone here, a straight line 
there; a variety of angles, alternated by squares, dots, rings 
and single stitches, make up the design of this cushion 
cover. And life—its pattern is also marked in this irregular 
way—childhood, innocence, youth, affection, family ties, 
love, marriage, sorrows, joys, children, disappointments. 
How strange is the allotment of all that is good or evil in 
life. To some goes all that is good, to others all that is 
bad. Do we ourselves make the good or bad things of life, 
or ore we born to them, or do the events mould us ? I was 
young, loving, pure; and out of that good, through no fault 
of mine, what has come? One who would shrink from the 
recognition of mother or sister ! Oh, better, better far, you 
mothers, hear cold, senseless, earth falling in dull thuds on 
your daughter’s grave, than carry the weight of a shamed and 
sorrowing heart for her who dead, yet liveth. Oh, these figures 
and fancies! I see in them, everywhere I turn, what I was 
and what I am; and yet, am I much to blame? What I 
am is not from choice. If it had not been for John, I 
should have long ere this been laid in some pauper’s grave, 
unmarked, unknown, except in sin, and by God, alone. 
And why ? Abandoned by husband, my heart broken, my 
baby cries for food, my brain in a whirl, and— No work 
in the stores for one so poorly dressed as I. I sinned, sinned 
for my baby’s food—my baby—dead—dead; my reason 
shattered. Must I be judged for this ? I plunged into the 
let he of sin; I was whirled into the vortex of dissipation; 
I tried to sink memory; my soul was dead, my body dying. 
When John, John, met me, he took me away—into the 
country. “Come, come,” said he; “ let the p .st be as yester¬ 
day; it rained all day, and see how the sun shines now.” I 
listened; he gave me love which bade me hope; but out of 
the horrid past rose the shadow of my own self, mingling 
all that can be good and evil in a woman, to kill my hope 



17 


of a future. My little one, my little one; had you lived— 
no—better, better dead; better be alone in this wintry 
world—yes, alone, :done — {throws her head clown, sobbing 
convulsively ) 

Enter John Melville. —Why, Ethel, why, my girl—tears — 
tears; you tremble all over; you are so excited; what is the 
matter; what has occurred ? Now calm yourself. 

Mrs. M. — Nothing—nothing, John; I was r thinking — 

John. Of what? 

Mrs. M.—My life—my life before I met you. 

John—W ell, my child, be more philosophical; when a thing 
is unpleasant to think of, turn your thoughts in another 
direction. Why regret the past and its troubles ? Think of 
the present, the future and its joys. 

Mrs. M.—There are no joys in life for me, John 

John.—N onsense. Philosophy should teach us that the 
saddest experiences of the past are but the heralds of a joy¬ 
ful future. Come, cheer up; see you have many pretty 
things here, or if you want more, ora change, or- 

M RS. M.—Do not speak that way, John; you are very, 
very good to me, and I love you for it—( here John turns as 
if hurt in feelings.) Oh, no; not for what your money 
buys, but your kind, gentle ways. See, you are many in 
one—father, mother, sister, brother, husband and baby. 

John.—Y ou should be pleased with your baby; I am a 
good sized infant—a prodigy. 

Mrs. M.—You are a good, line fellow, John—a little weak 
at times, a little too spirited for a fireside; except, John, 
except you had a pure, loving wife to sit by you—be your 
ballast, John. 

John.—W hy don’t you be that ballast; I have begged you 
to be, time and time again. What prevents? Can I not 
break any legal obstacle—il there be any ? We can go to 
some other State, some other country. No—always that 
mournful shake of the head You do not love me. 

Mrs M.—Do not love you? Why, John—you know I 
love you, dearly, more than the heart of woman has a right 
to; my love is a worship, an idolatry. I love you more than 
anything on earth, in air, in heaven, except—except— 

John—W hat ? 

Mrs, M.—A remnant of my past. 

John—W hat is that—your mother, your father, your— 

Mrs. M.—Hush, John; you forget—remember, dear, our 
compact. My past is a sealed book; its pages are those of 
• sorrow; it contains much that is sacred to me. A man of 




18 


honor respects the seal and stamps on the curiosity which 
would break it. To all women and most men a corner of the 
heart should be sealed, for In it remembrances of love and 
of lovers are concealed. 

John —Ethel, have I not tried to respect your secret, 
though often sorely tempted? 

Mrs. M. —Yes. John; but in that past there is that (which 
please do not ask me), which may, even now, or at any time 
rise to confront me—I could not marry you. 

John —Why not tear away this barrier; why not sweep 
avay that thing of your past which you refer to—or, or if it 
is of sudi a nature as to be amenable to the law, why not 
prepare t» meet it? Cannot the law I read within these 
very rooms, the profession which only your influence could 
have made me follow diligently, now serve you in your 
troubles? 

Mrs. M.—What there is in my past, John, no law of man 
can indict me for; what wrongs I have done you know 
those, and the great wrong of my daily life I must answer 
to that Judge, who can read motive and act; that Judge, 
who will forgive the unforgiven, and pronounce the not 
guilty, guilty. That which does exist has made me what I 
am. I do not call down vengeance or justice, but forgive¬ 
ness, as I hope for forgiveness. I have been branded by 
sorrow, and the seared mark will ever be upon me. 

John —You hide from me your past, you tell me sorrow T is 
your portion, you tell me that the law is not your creditor, 
and yet that there is something tangible in the present out 
of your past which will not allow you to be my wife. If 
there exists a legal tie I can break it; but, there is a law I 
cannot break which is superior to the written laws of men— 
a law upon which all the world sits as commentators, and 
then few agree. It is the divine law of heart, of feeling, of 
em tion, the law which binds, holds, sacrilices and suffers. 

Mrs. M.— Ah, John,, it is that law which makes me suffer, 
and it is that law of love for you that tells me that you must 
be freed from me. Yes, I must sacrifice you; leave me, 
John, oh leave me. The days that are gone are like a song 
that’s been sung, and its beauty is lost for ever more; but 
that beauty is sacred to me. between those days and these 
the barrier sorrow and sin arises; it was love turned to hate, 
joy turned to sorrow, and moral health to cankerous disease. 

John. —My conscience absolves you, for if you fell your 
temptations were stronger than you. Was I not fast going 
down the hill of life, down to ruin ? What was I? When 




19 


we met our moral natures were on the same plane. Was I 
not a drunken profligate, courting dissipation, sapping my 
body of its strength, deadening my mind and falling deeper 
and deeper in the moral swamp, when you turned me from 
my ways and showed me a higher and better life ? Come, 
now; were we not equal—equally fallen? 

Mrs. M.—Not in the eyes of the world; in the sight of 
Heaven, perhaps; in the sight of man—no. What I was 
for two short weeks, society shuns, and rightly; and yet 
what T was, has always been and always will be. Why does 
God allow it? But you, society says, are just a trifle wild; 
Young men, they say, must see the world. Poor fools, 
who mistake the laughter of aching hearts for lun. Poor 
fools! unkind, unchivalrous men, who joy in woman’s sor 
rows; and, having seen this world, marry and become the 
honest fathers of pure and virtuous daughters. Oh, Nature, 
thy incongruities! We are not then equal—man says not, 
and my own being says not. AVoman must be pure—would 
it were in mind as well as body—hateful sham where virtue 
is virtue by constraint, and not by right incarnate. I tell 
thee, love, and often, too, my love, my life is all for you; 
and yet I love you so, that I would not, even could I marry 
you; your children must be free ol fault, no sorrow on 
innocence, no ill reflections on mother or cause to despise 
the father—from tainted springs impure currents flow. 

John —You are too sensitive, too imaginative. 

Mrs. M. —John, I have often beseeched you to marry; leave 
me; this life is not as the great Ruler ordained; it is im¬ 
pure, casts shame on me, and reflects ill on you. Marry— 
you will be great, your house the desired house to visit; 
your children—<*h, John, you cannot conceive how a father’s 
heart warms and glows at the prattle of his own baby boy, 
nor imagine the pleasure it gives to have his baby fingers 
pulling at your hair with little screams of delight, while his 
mother, your loving wife, sits by, loving both father and 
child, which are hers. Oh my lost, lost life, had I known 
you years and years ago ! 

John.— Ah, this can never be; my love is all for you. It 
is useless to urge you, your resolution is adamantine. I am 
successful in my profession, and I feel as if I ought to marry; 
you drive me continually on to it. This existence is as you 
say—unnatural. I will marry; I determined to marry am¬ 
bitiously, since I cannot marry you, whom I love. I will 
make what the world will call a “ good match.” I will 
marry Miss B. 



20 


Mrs. M. —I am so glad, John, lliat von will marry; but— 
but I fear you are making a mistake. Marry a woman in 
your own sphere, but only because you feel fond of her. 
Ambitious marriages are but rocks which cause social 
catastrophes. Marry some pure, good, loving girl; there 
are so—so many of them. 

John.—I cannot bring a loveless heart to a loving girl. 

Mrs. M.—No, but marriage without affection is tyranny. 

John. —True; but this match will be what the facetious 
call an alliance—mutual respect, united fortunes, indepen¬ 
dent actions; in fact, a matrimonial friendship. 

Mrs. M—Will M iss Brockholst marry you ? 

John —Yes. 

M RS M.—I was in hopes Alice would be the one, from 
what you say of her; I think she is the more fascinating. 

John —True ; she is a child of nature, loving and 
throbbing with emotions I cannot respond to. I could love 
her as a father, or an elder brother. Young Lovell, I know, 
adores her, and as she always quarrels with him when pres¬ 
ent, and defends him when away, it is a proof that she 
does not altogether close her heart to him. 

Mrs M. —Yes, he adores her! Happy man. I hope, John, 
that mine will turn out well for his sake; his future is to be 
developed by the results of that mine. {Knock at door. 

Enter Maid.) 

M aid. —Mr. Lovell is down stairs, mam, and wants to 
know if Mr Melville is here? 

Mrs. M.—Yes; ask him to come up. \Exit Maid. 

John. — He should be more careful about coming here. 
You had better tell him he would think me jealous; some 
old woman will hear of it and fill the town with the news. 

Enter Loo ell —How do you? {to Mrs M.) {To Mel¬ 
ville) —I am glad to find you; here is a note from Long- 
street. [ handing note. ] 

John.-— Many thanks. 

Mrs. M.—I am very glad to see you, but do you know I 
have some misgivings about your coming here during the 
day; you might be seen; some people might steal your good 
name, for I am considered dangerous to reputation^; besides 
T know of a young lady who might take offence, and rightly, 
too. I should- 

Lovell. —Do you think so ? 

John —Yes, my boy; you should be careful. Suspicions 
nursed by imagination, create steel-clad lies to riddle truth. 

Lovell. —It seems to me that truth rather likes to be 







21 


riddled; it is the target at which old maids and old women 
liurl their shafts—the whiter the character, the better the 
mark. 

Mrs. M.— C lome, come; I will ask you a fair question, and 
give me a fair answer: Is the club less gossipy than the 
sewing circle ? 

Lovell.—W ell, no; at the club we merely talk over the 
news, but at the sewing class a character is maliciously 
thrust with every turn of the needle. 

Mrs. M —Poor, heathen men; I am sorry for you; women 
are so vastly below you that I sometimes wonder how you 
can condescend to marry us. What are you thinking about, 
John ? 

John. —This note of Longstreet’s. 

M rs. M — About stocks? Oh, John, why don’t you listen 
to me. Woman has an instiuct that is not given man; 
I fear that man Longstreet; please, John, have nothing to 
do with him—don’t gamble in Wall street. 

John.— Longstreet is an honest fellow; you do him an 
injustice; he writes me of orders I gave him, about stocks, 
bonds, etc I have put in your name to be used when— 
when I leave you to be married; here is the receipt. 

Mrs. M —Oh, are we so near the end—must we part soon ? 

John. —Yes; in a day or so, or—Ethel, I will never leave 
you—must I go—do you bid me go ? 

Mrs. M.—Yes—oh, oh, (cries). Yes, you must go ! It 
must be so. IIow hard to lose you; John, John, I love you 
so ! (weeps hysterically ) 

John— Come, let us go (to Austin). We will leave you; 
I will return later (Leans over and kisses her and moves up 
the stage.) 

M rs. M. — John — ^calling) — John - 

John —What, dearest ? 

Mrs. M— (Throws herself on him , arms about neck.) 
Iviss me. 

John. — (takes her back and leaves her in chair at table.) 
Good-bye. '(Exit. 

Mrs. M.—Good-bye [weeping). Good-bye, forever. 


end of ACT II. 





ACT III. 


The Law Office of John Melville. 


Curtain rises on Clerk arranging papers on desk, &c. 

Clerk. —Something is wrong, Perkins, my boy; some' 
thing is wrong in this office, you can depend upon that. I 
heard Mr. Longstreet say “ it fell off eleven points,” and 
“closed very weak.” Why, my lad, it is not law, there are 
only nine points in law. “Closed very weak.” Who closed 
very weak ? I wonder if it’s the chief ? 

Enter Longstreet. — Mr Melville down yet ? 

Clerk.— No, sir; expect him in every minute. 

Longst. —Have you a morning paper? 

Clerk —{ Hands paper . ) The Herald 

Longst. —How do you like this red-tape business ? ( Reads 
paper.) 

Clerk.—V ery well, sir, as long as that white-tape shop in 
Broad street sends us customers, for if they step in there 
first, it isn’t long before they call on us. [ Exit Clerk. 

Longst.— ( Lights cigarette , sits on desk ) —That combina¬ 
tion rather did the business. He can’t suspect; and yet if he 
should—why is it I must always be a Judas? I like Mel¬ 
ville; good fellow, Melville; but why in the deuce must he 
run across my bow ? Why did he not ruin himself specu¬ 
lating ? But he’s been confoundedly lucky instead. If he 
had only ruined himself, I would not have had to lay a pit- 
fall for him It must be destiny. If I have ruined him 
completely, which I think I have, his engagement to Miss 
Brockholst will be broken off I will step in, marry her, 
and —and if that little affair of seven years ago crops up, 
my dear Mr. Longstreet, your sphere of usefulness will be 
transferred from the Street by the State’s kindly aid, to the 
shoe shops of Sing Sing. Oh, women, women ! from the 
time of Eve to Leonie, you have tempted men with forbid¬ 
den fruit, until the entire world suffers a mt>ral indigestion. 
Begad, I am getting poetical, eh, romantic. I arrive in New 
York penniless, find money power; I forget my past, and 
stab a friend by taking his money, the only death felt here. 
And now I am eager to marry a woman because—because— 



































23 


I am infatuated What a fool ! what a fool ! Oh, here it 
is {reads): “ It is rumored that the great and sudden depre¬ 
ciation in R. R. securities for the past week lias seriously 
embarrassed many well-known merchants, who were tempted 
by the advance movement of a month ago, to try a ‘flyer’ in 
the uncertain financial pool of Wall street. The steady 
depreciation has at last struck those outsiders who, having 
vainly hoped for a reaction in prices, are now compelled to 
sell their securities and are left floundering in troubled 
waters. 'The failure of John Melville, Counselor at Law, to 
meet his obligations, occasioned by ln-avy losses in coal 
stocks, was extensively reported late yesterday afternoon 
His brokers state, however, their entire confidence in his 
ability to settle in full for his losses within a few days.” 
Confound it, I thought that reporter would make it worse; I 
gave him facts enough to burst a National bank 

Eater Melville. —Ah, Longstreet, here you are; so it’s all 
in the papers ? 

Longst. —How do you suppose they got hold of it ? What 
do you propose doing ? 

Melville —Convert my assets into cash, paying dollar for 
dollar. My creditors will allow me a short time to sell to 
better advantage, if I comply to certain propositions, which 
I have decided to do. However, I will have a small sur¬ 
plus; I am not totally ruined, only hard pressed for money 
at the present time. 

Longst. —Why don’t you sell that mine: I might raise a 
few thousand dollars for it. 

Melville. —Who would buy it? Nobody wants it.. No, 
young Lovell has faith in it; but he is young. I will not 
sell it yet awhile, or rather not till he gives it up. 

Longst. —But it costs so much to run. I will get a bid 
for it if I cm. Will you take $25,000. (Aside.) If he 
knows what I do, $250,000 would not buy it. 

Eater Clerk with telegram. 

Melville (reads, aside): “Struck fine ore Monday; great 
excitement; another bonanza; will telegraph developments 
Austin Lovell.” I wonder if Longstreet knows anything 
of this ? 

Longst. — What’s up—anything important ? 

Melville. —No. 

Longst.— I will see what I can do about getting you a 
bid. 

Melville. —I don’t want a bid; I will not sell. Ah, good 
morning. 





24 


Knter Mr. Wrinkle. 

Longst.— Ah, good morning. Good day. [Exit. 

Wrinkle.— The higher up in the profession you lawyers 
rise, the further up-stairs your clients have to climb. I have 
dropped in, at least climbed in, for a moment 

M elville.— Well, sir; you have perhaps read of my 
troubles 


Wrinkle. —Yes, my young friend, and if you had taken 
an old fool’s advice—old men are always said to be old 
fools—you would not have been in this fix to day. I did 
not come, however, to tell you how this disaster might have 
been averted, others will do that, but to talk over a little 
business quietly. s 

Melville — Ah. 

Wrinkle. —I was once caught myself and I found the 
whole community had propheeied my ruin. I also found 
that by being pressed for settlement, much property had to 
be disposed of, much below its value, to meet my creditors’ 
claims. Having no wife, I have managed to lay up a few 
dollars, which I am willing to loan you on your securities 
until they can be sold at such figures as their true value 
demands. 

M elville. —This is truly noble of you, Vlr. W . as I have 
not been a particular friend of yours. 

Wrinkle —True. Had I been a particular friend of 
yours, I should have been too much pressed myself person¬ 
ally to assist you— this is the way of particular friends. 

M elville —I am afraid so; it seems that adversity is like 
a fire, charing what it does not consume, and changing the 
entire nature of that which was placed to the test; however, 
I find pure gold in you, and perhaps will in others. 

Wrinkle. —Do you think Miss B. will be pure gold ? 

Melville. —My dear sir, really; since 1 have had confi¬ 
dence enough in her to ask her to be my wife, 1 surely must 
have sufficient confidence in her character not to question 
her now. 

Wrinkle. —True; so you should; but still do you think 
she will stand the test, will she char, turn to ashes, or be 
pure metal ? 

Melville. —l entertain too high an opinion of Miss 
Brockholst to think she would break our engagement without 
a plea other than my loss of fortune. Indeed, that would 
be—would be—indelicate, unmaidenly. 

Wrinkle —Even so; but Providence wisely provides that 
all maidens shall have mothers. Now, the mother of this 




25 


century is a special creation, affording a system of offense 
and defense for the beautiful princess, before which pale the 
defences of past ages. Moreover, the mother in matri¬ 
monial politics is a natural diplomatist. Miss Brockholst is 
the daughter of Mrs. Brockholst simply, and as such must 
do what dear ma says. Now what will dear ma say ? 

Melville. —How can I tell ? Miss Brockholst is a wo¬ 
man old enough to judge for herself. 

Wrinkle— Ah, well, if I cannot shatter your faith to 
meet the contents of this letter ( hands letter ). I hope it 
mav not, thereby destroying my suspicions that your faith 
is ill-founded. 

M elville.— My dear sir, I sincerely hope your suspicions 
are ill-founded. I will open it with your permission (opens, 
reads): “ My dear Mr. Melville. By to-day’s newspapers I 
learn your misfortunes have 1 ecome known to the world. 
The news will certainly surprise many persons. I have been 
aware of the critical condition of your affairs, and I have 
for the past week daily expected you to inform me Con¬ 
sidering that marriage was so soon to join our destinies in 
common, I think I was entitled to have learned of your 
troubles from you. You would have received my warmest 
sympathy, for truly I am very sorry for you. With your 
abilities and influential friends the world will yield to you 
in time more than your present losses; however, as it would 
be inexpedient for you to enter into this contest encumbered 
by a wife. I think it would be well for us to renounce our 
projected union. Do not think harshly of me, but always 
consider me your friend Leonie.” Egad, sir; this is a note 
of sympathy, breathing tenderness and self-denial, whisper¬ 
ing subtle words ol encouragement, tinged with a flattering 
tribute to my talents and abilities. Read, read, Mr. Wrin¬ 
kle ( hands letter ), and see the fliaisy mtsk of fabrication by 
which compromising motive seeks to maintain a semblance 
of dignity in the presence of society. 

Wrinkle. —A well-told lie, young man, society must 
accept, else it would be disintegrated by objectionable 
truths. (Reads.) As I expected. Had it been my little 
Alice, your troubles would have brought her flying to you, 
overpouring with love and unselfish sympathy. (Continues 
to read.) The translation to this conventional epistle sounds 
rather harsh, it read: your money, my good sir, having 
taken wings, 1 am sorry for you; but business is business, 
and I am expensive. 

Melville — What does she mean by “I have been aware 






26 


of the critical condition of your affairs ” ? How could she— 
did you ? 

Wrinkle. —No, I did not; she did. The knowledge of 
evil was first communicated to woman. 

Mel ville - -But how could she know ? 

Wrinkle. —Probably Longstreet entertained her with 
interesting little facts about the ebb tide in your affairs. 

Melville. — Oh, no; Longstreet is my friend. 

Wrinkle. — Pardon me; two men, young man, never court 
one woman and remain friends. 

Melville.—I never suspected for a moment he admired 
Miss Brockholst.* 

Wrinkle. —Evidentlv not. T did. I said, here is a war of 
the tables; I will watch the white knight (that is Long¬ 
street) go for the red knight’s fair enslaver; the red knight 
(that is yourself) filed no demurrer, the white knight was a 
determined bull; so I sold short on the red knight. I am 
always a bear on humanity; I saw legal acumen eclipsed by 
Wall street shrewdness. 

Melville. —If he has acted the knave with me there, he 
may have in business. 

Wrinkle. —More than likely-. As a lawyer you are a 
hunter of loopholes; this time you have discovered a noose, 
but only too late to learn that you have been hung by it by 
the amiable Mr. Longstreet. 

Melville.— Then you believe him a villain ? Have you 
any reasons ? 

y 

Wrinkle— Many; a word to the wise is sufficient; be 
cautious; I will aid you all I can; I must go now. (Tood- 
day. [.Exit. 

yIelville — (Sits down at desk.) I have been duped, 
that’s evident; but to business. These are from clients 
evidently afraid their property is endangered. Let a man 
be unfortunate, and the world believes him a swindler 
These from professed friends, expressing condolence mingled 
with curiosity. Let a man be unfortunate and his friends 
become immediately curious to learn what may be saved 
from tlie wreck before utterly discarding him. {Knock at 
door. Enter Clerk.) Come in. 

Clerk.— Mr Brockholst and a lady would like to see 
you, sir. 

Melville. —Show him in. Who can the lady be ? 

Eater B. and A.) —I have come in for a moment, Melville, 
and as Alice insisted upon coming, you see her also. 

Alice --I told father I would come, and I have. 





27 


Melv. — (To Alice.) So it seems. I am glad to see you, 
I am sure. ( To 3Ir. J3 .)—Is it about anything in particular? 

Brock.—Y es. 

Melv.— ( To Alice.) Will you be kind enough to come in 
here for a few minutes ? (Shows small room door to right.) 

Alice.— Certainly— (aside). I want to have a little chat, 
John. 

Melv.— (To her.) All right (aside). About Lovell ? (To 
31r. Jl.) Pray, be seated. 

Brock. —Thanks. I am very sorry to hear, my boy, of 
your misfortunes, and I regret extremely that my daughter 
—my daughter- 

Melv. —Should throw me over ? 

Brock. —Yes. I was opposed to you at first; but now 
that 1 know you, I like you and regret this marriage is not 
to be. I wished to explain to you that I have no influence 
with Leonie; her mother is her adviser; that was the agree¬ 
ment; so I had nothing to say when I learned that Leonie 
had written to you. 

Melv —This morning’s experience has shaken my faith in 
many things; also in women of the higher classes, where 
might be expected to be found a loyalty in keeping with 
such station. 

Brock. —Ah, yes; ’tis sad; but are you as badly crippled 
as the papers state ? 

Melv.--A s yet, ’tis almost impossible to tell. 

Brock. —Oh, you will get out better than you believe; 
failure comes prior to success, so do not be disheartened. 
But it is late. Alice— (calls.) 

Melv.—S he has a word to say to me, about Lovell, I 
imagine; so give her five minutes. 

Brock. —Very well; I wait in the carriage. Good-day. 

Melv. —Good day. That door—Now for it— {To Alice.) 

Alice. —Oh, John, I am so sorry for you; I think Leonie 
just hateful to treat you so; I would not let Austin go that 
way. Will Austin have to come back ? He thinks the mine 
so promising. Mr. Longstreet has been writing to Austin 
about the mine. 

Melv. —Has he ? And what does Austin say ? 

Alice.— He says he is suspicious of Mr. Longstreet, and 
thinks Mr. Longstreet wants to buy it of you. 

Melv.— Indeed ! Well, I won’t sell it, and Austin shall 
keep his position. 

Alice —I am so glad; I will write to him. I must run, 
or pa will scold me. Good bye. * 





28 


Melv. — Good bye. Such a girl is worth a fortune. The 
only woman who ever cared for me was Ethel. It is well 
that my troubles came after I settled a competency on her— 
and this ( showing letter') is all I know of her now. Poor, 
dear girl ! How her sorrows, which she would not tell me 
of, threw their shadows across her sweet face. And these 
lines, written by a hand trembling with emotion, are blurred 
with her tears. Ah ! I wonder if she has seen the account 
of my misfortunes. ( Reads ) “ Dearest John, when you 

come here this evening and find this note, I will have tied 
never to return. Not until the hour of parting was upon 
me did I know how hard the sacrifice was to bear. About 
you, oh John, my only interest in this great, crowded world 
revolve; and even that my conscience denounces. If I do not 
leave you now I may never have the courage to. I am a temp¬ 
tation to you, John, which is positive ruin. I go to a place 
where I can hear and see you grow great; in your sorrows 
I shall have the deepest sympathies, for I love you, love you 
so. I forbid you to speak to me should we meet, to search 
for me if you feel inclined; for John, we must live seperate 
lives. Good-bye, my darling, forever, forever. Your de¬ 
voted Ethel.” Poor girl- 

Enter Ethel. Rushing in , or covering eyes, and kissing 
from behind —Oh, John. 

John. —My darling. ( Embraces her.) 

Mrs. M.—In trouble, my old boy? I ought not to be here, 
but I could not help coming. Will you forgive me ? 

John. —Forgive you—for what ? 

Mrs. M.— For coming here. I thought the money you 
gave me might help you now. Take away your arms; you 
are to be married. 

John. —Oh, no; that is broken off. 

Mrs. M.—Why, certainly not because you lost your 

money ? 

John.— Yes. 

Mrs. M.—Heartless woman. Better so, John; there can 
be no happiness where there is no love. 

John. —Happiness can only come to me through you. 
Why will you not marry me ? 

Mrs. M.—The old question. No; it is impossible. But 
won’t you take my money; it will assist you greatly. 

John.—N o, dearest, I will not; you need it more than I. 

Mrs. M—Oh, no; I must occupy my time so I have been 
keeping a large summer boarding house. 

[Knock at door. Enter Clerk.] 




29 


Clerk.— Mr. Longstreet, sir. 

John.— Ask him to wait a moment. 

Mrs. M.—Do you still associate with that man ? I have a 
a dread of him. 

John. —J fear I have discovered, too late, your fears are 
not groundless.—Can you wait a little while till I see him ? 

Mrs. M.— Certainly. 

John. —Then come in here (Shows door to right. Rings. 
Enter Clerk ) Show Mr. Longstreet in. 

Enter Longst. —What do you suppose, old man, I have an 
offer. 

John —Have you ? How much ? Who from ? 

Longst.—$45,000— but the purchasing company do not 
wish to be known at present. So I agreed to propose a plan 
to you, to take the mine at that figure, and deliver the title 
in sixty days to them. 

[Enter during this speech Mrs. J/., who moves slowlg in, 
recognizes Longstreet, advances as if to denounce 
him,hut staggers hack silently from whence she came\ 

John. — Hum; how much will you clear by the operation ? 

Longst.— Nothing—I only want to befriend you. 

John. —I am sorry to hear you say that, that is always 
expensive. I have had to pay pretty high prices for being 
befriended. 

Longst. —What has got into you—you almost insult me. 

John.— Almost? I should be happy to insult you al¬ 
together. 

Longst. —Melville, be careful. I am your friend- do not 
let your troubles turn your head. 

John. —[ Sarcastically. ] I have proofs of your friendship. 
I have had faith in you when—and yet I never met a person 
who knew you ten years ago. By the way, who are you ? 
Where do you come from Mr. Longstreet? I suppose you 
have a history, eh, Judas? [Rings hell] 

Longst.— You shall repent this, sir; you shall repent. 
[Rises, in anger, to go .] 

John.—O f repenting we shall see who will do the most. 
[Enter Clerk] Show that man the door. 


END ACT III. 




ACT IV. 


The Glen Cottage. 

o 


Scene—Porch, or doorway of a house. Flower beds, rustic 
chairs, trees, etc. Curtain rises on Alice, seated to r. of 
stage and Lovell talking to her. 


Lovell.— Am I glad to be east again ? I should say so. 
There was not a petticoat within two hundred miles of the 
mine. Why, the most determined woman-hater in the 
world would hunger to see a woman, if he was out among 
those rough lads for only a few months. When* we struck 
that big vein, and I called it Alice after you, the miners 
drank to the belle of the camo. 

Ai ace .— I suppose you named it after me, that you 
mi'jht pick it to pieces. Did they ask you why you called 
it Alice ? 


Lovell.— Yes, but before I could answer a young Irish¬ 
man spoke out, saying: “ Faith, boys, why do you ask such 
a question ? Isn’t it vain and attractive enough to be 
called after a woman ?’’ I shall call everything I want to 
be lucky, after you. Just to think that I am well off now, 
and Melville is richer than ever. What a time we will 
have spending it. 

Alice. —When we are married, I can spend it just as I 
like, can’t I ? 

Lovell.— Won’t you commence now ? 

Alice. —Do not be in a hurry, my yountr man. All 
women have to wait so long before they get a husband, 
that they do double execution when they get married. Let 
us. go for a sail on the lake. [Exit, both.'] 

Enter Mr. Brockholst and Mrs. Brockholst at r. 

Mrs. B —If I had not been so economical you would not 
be the millionaire you are now, Mr. Brockholst. 

Mr. B.—How you got the idea into your head that you 
have been economical, I am at a loss to imagine. 

Mrs. B.—Of course you don’t; you would not admit it if 
you did. I see your object—you wish to quarrel, and there 



31 


end the matter. But I will not. I wish $7,000; will you 
or will you not let me have it ? 

Mr.B.—I f you will tell me for what purpose,yes; If not,no. 

Mrs. B.—Very well, you shall regret it. [ Walks off. 
Aside.'] I am afraid I will have to tell him, and he will 
think I have been a fool. | 'Exit.] 

Mr. B.—I imagine she has been speculating, and has been 
cornered. She is now too proud to tell me, for she has 
been preaching, for the last twenty years, about what she 
would have done if she had been a man. ( Exit ) 

Enter Longstreet and Miss Brockliolst. 

Miss B.—That basket of fruit was delicious; How good 
of yen to have thought ol me. 

T.ongst. —I have other thoughts about you, which I wish 
were as acceptable as the fruit. 

Miss B.—Perhaps they are—but, not having heard them, 
how can I tell ? Do you like this hotel—I do. 

Longst. —Yes, the air is delightful up in these mountains. 
I wns thinking this morning that I have known you for 
about some years. 

Miss B.—You should not tell me so. Age is on the side ol 
man, but against woman. 

Longst. —Not against a lovely woman like you, who has 
a string of worshippers at her feet. 

Miss B. — You deceive yourself. I am a maiden all for¬ 
lorn. I have not a single worshipper. 

Longst.— You have me— 

Miss B. — No—have I? Interesting revelation. But 
pray y >u, sir, since when this adoration ? 

Longst. —Before Mr. Melville was engaged to you. 

Miss B.—Indeed ! And did you care for me then? 

Longst. —Yes; I would have been jealous of him, had 
not been I felt myself unworthy of you. 

Miss B.—You surprise me; I might believe you admire 
me, but your humility—that’s comical. (Baughs.) Forgive 
me for laughing, but it’s so funny. 

Longst.— Would it be equally furny if T told you that I 
came up from New York to ask yuu to be my wife—will 
you be my wife ? Do you not care a little for me ? 

Miss B.—I don’t know; leave me no\», and I will tell you 
to-morrow. 

Longst —May I hope? Good-bye. Good-bye till to¬ 
morrow. ( At back of stage he meets Mrs />. lie sags). 
I have asked her; she is undecided; I shall rely upon you to 
nuke her decide. 























32 


Mrs. B.—You seem agitated. I hope you have not re¬ 
fused Mr. Longstreet; he is perfectly devoted to you; and 
you are getting along in years, my dear; you must not for¬ 
get that. He is such a nice young man, and then he has a 
fortune—quite a catch, I am told. 

Miss II—You always think any young man of fortune 
nice, mother; I listened to your wishes concerning Mr. Mel¬ 
ville; that affair has hardly ceased to interest our gossiping 
friends, when I must again be plunged in matrimony. 
Why ? Simply that I mav not be an old maid. I do not 
consider Mr Longstreet a catch. Who is he? What is he? 
An unknown man of fortune. He says himself his family 
were very simple people. 

Mrs. B.—He is a natural gentleman; he is working his 
way up in society; he gives the most charming dinners and 
theatre parties, and in a few years no one will hold a better 
position than he. I have made up my mind that he is the 
only man I shall give you my consent to marry. 

Miss B.—A short time ago it was Mr. Melville; then I 
complied t<> your wishes; this time it is Mr. Longstreet, 
now T shall comply to my own. 

Mrs. B.— Do you propose to reject him ? 

Miss B.—If I feel inclined—remember if- 

Mrs. B. — You are still undecided, then ? 

Miss B.—Yes; if you have nothing more to say, I shall 
go to my room— [leaves her shawl behind her.) 

Mrs. B.—Nothing ( exit L.) If I urge her too strongly 
she will resist me; I must persuade, not drive. [Exitd\ 

(Enter W. and M.) 

Johv.—H ave you any confidence in this report about 
Longstreet ? 

Wrinkle. —As much as I have that my name is Solomon 
Wrinkle. 

John.— If it is true, he is a greater scoundrel than I 
imagined. 

Wrinklk.— Quite likely; imagination is always below par. 

.John. — But I can hardly believe a man of his ability 
could contemplate such a ruinous action. 

Wkinkll.—Y ou will find, my young friend, that a man 
will often contemplate a ruinous action, which he knows to 
be ruinous conditionally, that is ruinous if discovered, if 
he has some strong motive; and so a ruinous action, com¬ 
mitted by a man of great ability, becomes a matter of 
history. The size of the stakes, measures the height of the 
man, if played for a crown or a woman. 




33 


John. —And that woman, Miss Brockholst — 

Wrinkle. —Exactly; we will save her, and in doing so 
ruin him. 

John. —Do you not think he will demand our proofs of 
the charge ? However if he learns we have discovered his 
true name—he may think we know all, and abandon his 
idea of marrying Miss Brockholst. When do you expect 
to see the detective ? 

Wrinkle.— This evening. He gives but little hopes of 
finding her. Will you walk down to the village with me 
for the mail ? [Exit.) 

John.— Yes. {Exit.) 

Enter Mrs. Morion. 

How strangely destiny rules the world. I came into this 
little country place, to leave the great world behind me — 
or rather, to avoid those I knew. When all John’s friends 
appear, I must go; but where, oh where can I fly ? The 
world is so small for those who would disappear. Ah, 
{Picking up shawl,) this shawl is hers; around her it is a 
mantle for purity; around me, oh! I loved him—in the 
world’s eyes, ’twas sin; which brought contempt on me. 
She did not-—in the world’s eyes, ’twas honorable; in 
heaven’s—oh, what was it ? 

Enter Miss Brockholst. 

Excuse me, you have my shawl, madame. 

Mrs. M.— Ah, I found it here; Miss Brockholst, 1 believe. 

Miss B —You have the advantage of me. 

Mrs. M.—Mrs. Morton. 

Miss B.—Mrs. Morton, a friend; a friend of Mr. Melville’s ? 

Mrs. M.—The same. 

Miss B You can keep the shawl. 

Mrs. M.—Miss Brockholst, take your shawl. {Emphatic.) 

Miss B.—It was given me by Mr. Melville; and since you 
have it now in your possession, you had better keep it. 

Mrs. M.—This is the first direct insult I have received in 
a very long time. You infer this shawl has been contam¬ 
inated by my touch—you infer that I am a moral leper. 
So are you. 

Miss B.—How dare you insult me ? 

Mrs. M.—How dare you ? 1 do not. I place you simply 

beside me on the moral platform. You read the social 
law, and I the law of heaven. I have broken that law, but 
not more than you. 

Miss B.—What do you mean ? 

Mrs. M.—Simply that you place the law of heaven be- 




-¥ 






















34 


neath the law of man. Heaven crys out “ without you love 
one another, there is no marriage.” Man says, “having no 
legal obstacles two persons may be married.” You would 
have married John Melville by the laws of man. 

Miss B. —But I did not marry him. 

Mrs. M.—No, but had lie not lost his money you would 
have ! You had promised to mary linn;—the intent was 
there; ’tis for the intent, the wilful premeditation of an act 
to kill, the murderer is hung—so you are guilty. 

Miss B. — I can not reason so quickly. 

Mrs. M. —Then I will for you: another crime would have 
followed—the crime of false swearing. The false 
oath “ to love, cherish, honor and obey,” would have 
been on your lips, while your heart and conscience 
, recorded the lie. Society applauds this act, and I am 
hissed because I loved and could not marry. For my 
class I do not plead sochd recognition. No—but Christian 
charity—If kindly voices called out to the sinking souls, 
“courage, courage,” many wearied, fainting sisters would 
hope again. Oh, you women, sheltered from the cold, 
shielded from want, and freed from grinding labor, stand 
as examples before your laboring sisters, be representatives 
of womanhood. Think you, Miss Broekholst, a marriage 
for money inspires your maid servant with virtue ? Does 
a legal paper satisfy your (-rod? Ah well—1 must not 
get excited. Women have always been hard judges on 
the faults of their own sex. Go ! never marry without you 
love. 

Miss B.—I see much truth in what you say, but my edu¬ 
cation has never tutored me to look at marriage in this light. 

Mrs M.—The heart, not the mind, must choose its mate. 

Miss B.—Forgive me for being harsh —here’s my hand. 

M RS. M —No, it is unnecessary to shake hands. For an 

insult I could have a terrible vengeance on you; as it is- 

well, never mind. 

Miss B.—Won’t you give me your hand ? 

M rs. M.—Here, then ; take the hand of a suffering 
woman. Ah, if the good women of the world but held out 
their hands to raise their unfortunate sisters, much sorrow 
and wickedness would disappear.'* Here. {Hands shawl.) 

Miss B.—Thanks. ( Wraps it arourCd her. Mrs. Morton 
starts to go into the house. Miss />. stops her. ) One moment 
Mrs. Morton, before you go. You say you could have a 
terrible vengeance on me. 1 do not know what you mean. 

1 am surrounded with mystery. One more thing of mystery 









85 


will not cause me any fear. I am sorry for you, yes, sorry 
for you, from the bottom of my heart. I know what you 
have done for Mr. Melville—do make him what he is this 
very day, and 1 know of tin; good work you have given your 
life up to. You do this because you love John—and 
because you would alone with [leaven for your sin. Do 
not be harsh with me I am different than you think me. 

Mrs. Morton.—-I sincerely hope so — but how ? 

Miss Brockholst.— I would not tell you this but that I 
knew you did want John to marry me, (this is strictly 
secret). Do you remember the day Mr Melville’s troubles 
got into the papers, and you went to him ? 

Mrs. Morton. —Very well. 

Miss Brockholst.—T hat day he received a note from me 
breaking the engagement. 

Mrs. Morton. —Yes, go on. 

Miss Brockholst.—D o you know why I broke it off? 

Mrs. Morton. —Yes, because his money had disappeared. 

Miss Brockholst. —No, not at all ; I said that but it was 
not so, you were the cause. 

Mrs. Morton. — I the cause ; how ? 

Miss Brockholst. —How? Well I was made to under¬ 
stand that Mr. Melville had not broken off with you as he 
had stated, nor did he intend to. During my engagement 
I had grown to love him—these reports grated on my feel¬ 
ings—at tint time came the crash. My mother urged me 
to break off the match, and as long as he had not given you 
up, I would not let him think 1 cared for him. 

Mrs Morton. —And you love him still, does he know it ? 

Mrs. Brockholst. —Here he omes, ask him. John. 

Mrs. Morton. — Mister Melville, what’s this I hear? 

(Muter) John Melville. -Oh ! you have met, have you ? 
Well, is there anything left to John Melville, now ? 

Miss Brockholst. — Enough, 1 have just told her all about 
it, and that we love each other. 

John Melville.— Yes, Ethel, when we last met I mis¬ 
judged her, had you only allowed me to approach you 
during these two years l should have told you how I 
received a little note asking me to call, and, oh well, we 
found then we did love each other more than we thought 
for. 

Mrs. Morton. --Why do you not announce it, nobody 
suspects it. 

John Melville.—N or must they. 

Miss Brockholst.— No, not even my own family. 




36 


* 


Mrs. Morton. —Why ? 

John Melville. —Because we are chasing the foxy Mr. 
Longstreet to cover, and he must not know we are on the 
scent. It is an easy run, for the scent is good. 

Mrs. Morton. —These Wall street foxes are sly, run him 
hard and I will be in at the death. 

John Melville.— You seem to really hate him. 

Mrs. Morton. — I really think I do. (Aside). No one 
has better cause. I am so glad Air. Melville, to think you 
are really in love, my prayer is being answered. I have 
prayed for this. 

Miss Brockholst. —With John’s consent we shall be as 
sisters, of your past remember but one thing, that is— 

John AIelville.— You saved me, let us all go now into 
the summer-house and have a little chat. (Exit all Three.) 

Enter Longstreet and Mrs. Brockholst. 

Longst —Madam, I never advised you to speculate. 

Mrs. B.—-How can you say that sir? Did you not per¬ 
suade me to “take a dyer,” as you called it? 

Longst. -Dnce only; only once—and then you male 
money. 

AI Rs. B. 1 fail 1 lost then I would not have been so (hir¬ 
ing afterwards. But to come to the point—[ owe you 
$7,000: I can not pay it without telling my husband why 
I want it -and that I shall not do. 

Longst.— As you please, madame; on the day I marry 
your daughter I will hand you your notes; should she 
refuse me, I will be compelled to write to your husband. 

Mrs. B.— (Defiantly.) At that time I will tell my husband. 
I believe my losses were made by you intentionally, and 
shall persuade him not to pay you. 

Longst. —In case of such an event, I will sue you first, 
and your husband afterwards. What a nice thing for your 
friends to read and chat over amongst themselves. 

AIrs. B. — You would not dare do this. 

Longst.- -Oh yes, I dare anything , and why not this ? 

Mrs, B.—Aly friends, our friends, they are more mine 
than yours: will decide against you; and, .sir, as you am¬ 
bled into society, you will quietly trot out again. 

Longst. —Ah well, even so, do not think my little enter¬ 
tainments will be neglected, simply because a shadow is 
thrown on me by the house of Brockholst. Aly dear madam, 
to an old skirmisher— 

AIrs. B —Sir, do you remember to whom you speak? 

Longst. - Perfectly; as I was about to say—an old skir- 









37 


finisher like you, you must surely know that few people accept 
invitations out of regard to the invitor, but rather for their 
own gratification. 

Mrs. B.— Well— 

Longst.—T hen mamma-in-law, as long as I entertain, my 
friends will be- legion. 

Mrs. B. — l grant you this; but how can I make Leonie 
(Enter Leonie at ) care for you ? 

Longst.— You cannot, but I may. Should you induce her 
to marry me, she might commence to have a feeling of at¬ 
tachment for me. 

Mrs. B.—But she will not marry, I am afraid, without 
first having the feeling of attachment you speak of. 

Longst.—S he would have married Melville, and did not 
love him. 

Mrs. B. —'That affair has altered her mind in these mat¬ 
ters. 

Longst.—H er mind, her mind is but subject to your will. 
It is to compensate this exertion of will, I offer you the 
$7,000. 

Mrs. B.— I am afraid her mind is beyond my will. 

Lonst.— Bosh ; her mind and her will are as pliable as 
those of a child. 

Leonie, (Coming forward). —Perhaps, Mr. Longstreet. 

Longst.—W hat—you here ? 

Mrs. B.—Have you heard all ? 

Leonie. —Perhaps you have not heard that some children 
are obstinate. So mother, by my marrying Mr Longstreet, 
you will earn $7,000. Are you not selling an heiress rather 
too cheap ? 

Mrs. B.—You do not understand. 

Leonie.—O h yes. This clear-headed gentleman, pays a 
brokerage of a few thousand dollars, to have me bring him 
as many a year. As to you, Sir, I think you contemptible. 

Longst.—R eally now, listen to me. 

Leonie. —Not one word ; you are beneath notice. But 
you mother, how could you bargain so ? 

Mrs. B.—Child, I owe him that money. I—seeing— (En¬ 
ter Mr. Wrinkle and John Melville.) No intrusion gentle¬ 
men, you may listen to whit I have to say. Inis man has 
induced me to speculate in Wall street. I have lost in 
money $5,000, and owe him $7,000, and he now threat¬ 
ens me. 

Wrinkle.— If he can prove it has ever been lost, Mr. 
Melville and I will settle it ; won’t we Melville ? 




3 8 


, ^k l v i lle. Yes, we will settle it ; but the chances are it 
is in Longstreet’s bank. 

Wrinkle. Not in Longstreet’s, but Thompson’s you 
mean. Eh—Thompson ? 

Longst. Sirs, how clare you—how dare you insult me ? 

> Wrinkle.— Your tide is running out, Mr. Thompson. 
Better give us any claims you have against Mrs. Brockholst 
and go along with it, or you may get stranded. 

Longst.—I refuse to hold any conversation with you, and 
you madame ; and as to the notes, I shall see your husband. 

Mrs. lb—If my husband must know, 1 shall tell him. 

(Enter} Mr. B. I ell what? What does all this mean? 

Melville.—D o not be alarmed, ’tis nothing. 

Miss B.—Oh mother ! 

Mr. Wrinkle. —Your wife thought she would speculate, 
and did ; loosing ten thousand dollars in money, and owes 
this man $7,000. Fie has been endeavoring to make her as¬ 
sist him in his wooing. 

Mr. lb—Oh then, this is what the money was for. If 
you had told me, I would have paid your debts, and showed 
you the folly of your actions. 

Longst.— (to Leonie ) I love you truly, for yourself 
only. Truly, I do. Have you no love for me ? 

Leonie.—N ot as much as I have for a dog. 

Wrinkle. — By the way, is it not rather risky for you to 
attempt to marry ? 

Longst. —Why ? 

Melville.— (to Wrinkle.) What nerve! (To Longst.) 
Can’t you guess ? 

Longst. —No. 

Melville. — We will for the sake of old times and to save 
the community, give you a chance. Leave the country at 
once, or— 

Longst. Wh it infernal game is this ? 

Melville. —A game suppressed by law, called bigamy 
in which a knave may sometimes control the suit of hearts. 

Longst. —You speak in riddles. I do not understand. 

Melville.— Of course not. Then to be plain, you, .Mr. 
Longstreet; or rather, excuse me, you, Mr. Philip Thompson, 
are the knave who would marry that lady, which little game 
in the unmistakable language of the law, would be termed 
bigamy, for you- now have a wife. 

Mrs. B.— He has a wife living? 

Miss B. — He has a wife--the wretch 

Mr. B.—You villian ! What have you to say to this ? 





Longst.—S ome mistake sir. A confusion, I cannot ex¬ 
plain. The erroneous information that my name is Thompson 
has led them astray. Such a man may have a wife; not I 
not I. 

Wrinkle.— (Aside to Melville.) We have forced him 
too soon. We can not prove what we say. 

Melv.—-D o not pile up a mass of falsehoods against 
yourself sir. Have you a wife ? or have you ever been 
married ? 

Longst.— No—upon my honor. 

Wrinkle.--W hen a man like that talks of honor, you 
may be sure he is lying. 

Mr. B.—Give the man a chance—he may not be guilty. 

Enter Lovell and, Alice . 

Lovell, to Alice.—S omething lias gone wrong. 

Alice, to Mrs. B.—What’s the matter ? 

Longst.—I stand here charged of a great crime. I be¬ 
lie ve.it a gigantic lie to ruin me. Your charge must be 
sustained, or I will order an action to be brought against 
you at once. If I have a wife, where is she ? She is the 
proof you need—where is she ? 

Enter Mrs. M. unobserved. —Here ! 

Longst.—Y ou here, Edith ! How came you here? 

Melv.—Y ou Ethel, his wife ! 

Mrs. B. to Miss B.—The villian- 

Wrinkle. —Gad—and we had the proof all along. I must 
be getting old since I can no longer smell a mouse. 

Mrs. M.—Do not scorn me Philip Thompson, or be sur¬ 
prised at what I am; for what I am you , you have made me. 
Listen: —Ten years ago I left my father’s house, that man’s 
wedded wife. He promising to cherish, love, and protect 
me until death. I gave him my love, absolutely. I trusted 
myself implicitly to his keeping. A year of happiness 
glided past. The firm in which he was employed failed, 
and he left me, to seek employment in this city, in our little 
cottage alone with my baby. Time, lad den with my 
prayers for him, dragged wearily past. Thoughts of acci¬ 
dent, and fears for his safety came over me—for I never 
received a single line. Poverty crept into the cottage. I 
went to work and earned but little. My thoughts were in 
the distant city. I arose one night, took my baby and fled 
into the great world. One moment I would cry out in agony, 
he is false—he has deserted me. The next my spirit would 
bid me hope; less something had happened—what, I could 
not imagine. My money was soon gone, my baby cried 







40 


for food, my clothes were pawned. I solicited work, but 
found none, and tny baby starved at home. It was the old 
story of a mother’s love, and a woman’s shame. I obtained 
the money, but upon reaching home, found my baby dead, 
and my honor lost forever. 5ly baby buried, in dispair I 
roamed the streets, and saw you, in evening dress, come out 
of *a public restaurant with a lady—I fainted. I went mad. 
and you, John, saved me from a terrible death— 

Melv. —And you—you saved me from a drunkard’s 
grave. Let the past be buried. In the sight of an impar¬ 
tial, righteous, and supreme Justice,the sins that soil women’s 
purity, equally stain the men’s. For in the great judgment, 
the unjust verdict ot custom will be over-ruled, and men 
and women must equally answer for the pure souls entrust¬ 
ed to their charge. Divine mercy will not be doled out in 
the measured and qualified standard of humanity. The 
pressure of circumstances, which you had not the strength 
to resist, will be considered. For that man’s inhuman deser¬ 
tion you shall be freed by the courts. 

Mrs. Brockholst. —Poor woman, how she must hate him. 

Mr. Brockholst. —She has sufficient reason. 

Mrs. Morton.— Hate, no, I loathe and despise him. 

Melv —But stop—do not leave us, Philip Thompson— 
though there is a person anxious for your safe keeping at 
the gate—for it will be a long time ere we all meet again. 

Wrinkle. —When you practice signatures you should 
destroy the pipers. 

Longst. — What new plot is this ? 

Brockholst —What more has this villain done ? 

Melv. — He has learned to write other people’s names, as 
well as his own. 

Enter Detective .—Excuse me, gentlemen. Philip 
Thompson, I arrest you in the name of the law. 

Longst. — What for ? 

Detective —For forging the signatures of Smithfield & 
Smith field, ten years ago. 

Longst.— At last the storm has broken. Forgive me, 
Edith,for the misery I have caused you. 

Mrs. M.—For the misery, yes, I forgive as I hope for 
forgiveness. 

Detective —Come, you are not wanted here. 

Melville.— Now Mr. and Mrs Brockholst, I have a little 
surprise in store for you, the platonic friendship, so to speak, 
existing between your daughter and myself, for the past 
two years has been— 





41 


Wrinkle. —Like all platonic friendships, a genuine — 

Mrs. Morton.— Case of true love, where the outward and. 
visible signs— 

Mrs. Brockholst. —Social position — 

Mr. Brockholst.— And dollars and cents — 

Melville. —Effectually conceal the inward and spiritual 
graces— 

Lovell.— Moral worth and— 

Alice. —True love— 

Melville.— This secret we have kept to entrap Longstreet. 
Now, since you have all had your little say,let me to you all, 
before Mrs. Morton, acknowledge that it is to her noble 
spirit any good there is in tne has come. 

Mrs. Morton.— Thanks John—I pray I may hear about me 
when I close my eyes in death, the voices of those suffering 
and sorrowing women to whom I have dedicated my life, 
declaring that my mission has been successful amongst them. 

Wrinkle —Madim, Solomon Wrinkle is said to be as 
close a fisted old in >ney grubber as there is in the land; 
but if you will kindly fill out some checks to suit yourself 
for your mission, on his bank, it would do him a world of 
good. 

M rs Morton.— When the Relief Mission needs money 1 
shall certainly call upon you. 

M elville.— You have but to ask either my money or my 
services and they are yours. 

Lovell. —And do not forget me— 

Mrs. Brockholst —And I will get you up a sewing class. 

Miss Brockholst. —Truly th%t is the stale brown bread of 
charity, Isn’t it,John ? 

Alice.— If I could do any personal good I would like to. 

Mrs. Morton —That I hope you will by setting working 
women good examples—and by trying to raise the tone of 
society. 

Brockholst, {Advancing to Mrs. M.) I sincerely trust 
the future will be as bright as the past, now dead, was dark. 

Wrinkle. —My friends, everything in life has its lights 
and shades, for the world is a see-saw, with its ups and 
downs, (lb Melville and Mrs. Morton.) You have had 
yours, and those young people will have theirs. One thing 
remember—The matrimonial plank is the safest and smooth 
e$t for those who would not lie “ Married for Money.” 

Tableau. 


the end. 

















